


We're tired, my Heart and I

by thetravelinglemon100



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical BOFA ending, Death, Dis is entirely underappreciated, Gen, Have some Dis feels, Loss, She is also very depressed, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetravelinglemon100/pseuds/thetravelinglemon100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dis contemplates all those she has lost, and longs to see them again.<br/>Prompt is the poem 'We're tired, my heart and I' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're tired, my Heart and I

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have all my Dis feels, but I warn you not to read this if you hate upsetting stories.

ENOUGH! we’re tired, my heart and I.  
We sit beside the headstone thus,  
And wish that name were carved for us.  
The moss reprints more tenderly  
The hard types of the mason’s knife, 5  
As Heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s life  
With which we’re tired, my heart and I. 

You see we’re tired, my heart and I.  
We dealt with books, we trusted men,  
And in our own blood drenched the pen, 10  
As if such colours could not fly.  
We walked too straight for fortune’s end,  
We loved too true to keep a friend;  
At last we ’re tired, my heart and I. 

How tired we feel, my heart and I! 15  
We seem of no use in the world;  
Our fancies hang gray and uncurled  
About men’s eyes indifferently;  
Our voice which thrilled you so, will let  
You sleep; our tears are only wet: 20  
What do we here, my heart and I? 

So tired, so tired, my heart and I!  
It was not thus in that old time  
When Ralph sat with me ’neath the lime  
To watch the sunset from the sky. 25  
“Dear love, you ’re looking tired,” he said:  
I, smiling at him, shook my head.  
’T is now we ’re tired, my heart and I. 

So tired, so tired, my heart and I!  
Though now none takes me on his arm 30  
To fold me close and kiss me warm  
Till each quick breath end in a sigh  
Of happy languor. Now, alone,  
We lean upon this graveyard stone,  
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. 35

Tired out we are, my heart and I.  
Suppose the world brought diadems  
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems  
Of powers and pleasures? Let it try.  
We scarcely care to look at even 40  
A pretty child, or God’s blue heaven,  
We feel so tired, my heart and I. 

Yet Who complains? My heart and I?  
In this abundant earth no doubt  
Is little room for things worn out: 45  
Disdain them, break them, throw them by!  
And if before the days grew rough  
We once were loved, used,— well enough,  
I think, we’ve fared, my heart and I. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My heart and I

...

Dís sat in the pale torchlight, alone but for the guide at the entrance, who had tactfully retreated.  
She traced her hands over the names engraved in the stone.

'Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, Reclaimer of Erebor. May his memory never fade.'

'Fili and Kili, sons of Kaelan, inseparable in life and in death. May their memory never fade.'

What she wouldn’t give to be under that stone with them.

Frerin, then Kaelan, then Thorin, Fili and Kili. It was too much; she didn’t know if she could take any more. A bitter smile ghosted across her lips. She didn’t have to take any more, because there was no-one left that the Valar could take from her. They had taken her parents, her brothers, her husband and her sons; all her closest kin were gone.

She sighed, the weight of many summers pressing on her shoulders.

Dís thought of her brother, Frerin. She remembered his winning smile, and the games he would play with his friends. He, as a second son, knew nothing of the duties that Thorin had to face. Frerin would play with his little sister, make her laugh, make her happy.  
Then came the battle of Azanulbizah, and his beautiful life came to an abrupt end. Frerin was no fighter; at heart he was a carpenter or a whittler, and he paid for that with his life.  
Dís did nothing to check the tear that rolled down her cheek.

She thought back to her husband, Kaelan. She’d first met him at the banquet that celebrated her coming of age. She’d noticed his blonde hair from a mile away, and later that evening, they’d ended up taking part in the same dance.  
She remembered their wedding; the quiet bonding ceremony, followed by the large gathering afterwards. She remembered how they’d struggled to afford it all, having only recently arrived in the Blue Mountains, and how she and Kaelan hadn’t really cared that they were poor.  
She remembered how he was when Fili was born, and then Kili...

And Thorin, her eldest brother. Always solemn and serious, but always there to protect her and look after her, to save her from both the children’s teasing and the might of Smaug. To save her even when she was perfectly capable by herself.  
She smiled slightly. He had always wanted to save her, often not giving her a chance to manage for herself. But now she was managing by herself, and she would have to until the end of her days.

No more laughs from Frerin, or kisses from Kaelan, or reassurance from Thorin. No more...

And her boys. Her beautiful boys.  
Fili, who took after his father, with his blonde hair and shorter stature, but had his mother’s eyes.  
Kili, who took after her in hair colour and height, but followed his father as an archer.  
They had Frerin’s easy sense of humour and innocence, and Thorin’s strength and determination.  
She remembered when Kili was born: the wonder that filled Fili’s eyes as he held his little brother, and proclaimed that he would be the best big brother in all of Middle Earth. She remembered how Kili had followed Fili everywhere, as soon as he could walk, and as soon as he could talk, Fili was teaching him words. She remembered them climbing hills, coming back with dirt under their nails and scrapes on their knees. She could remember the bedtime stories, the questions about Uncle Frerin, and Erebor.  
And Dís remembered the light that had entered her sons’ eyes as Thorin had spoken of his decision to reclaim that golden city of bedtime stories.  
They were too young.

More tears fell down her cheeks as she thought of the sole consolation she had: her Fili and her Kili were now together, feasting in the halls of their fathers and waiting for when their mother could join them. They were together, with each other, with their uncles and their father and their grandfathers and all their kin. The brothers need never be separated again.  
It was this that consoled Dís as she rose from where she sat, and glanced around her for her coat. She picked it up and slipped it on, the fur warming her body. But not her heart.  
Her heart would not be warm again until she too feasted with her kin in those great halls.

Dís sighed, expressing to the dead stone her world-weariness.  
She hoped that she would not stay long in Erebor, for she was tired and worn out. Amid all the mining and building and celebrating, there was no place for her; she was no miner or builder, and she was too broken to celebrate. She could not celebrate the outcome of a battle that had stolen from her her last kin.

She knew the tears she wept were selfish ones. It was selfish to want her sons with her in this cruel world of suffering, rather than allow them the peace and enjoyment of their ancestors’ banqueting halls.  
She glanced at the engraved words once more before slowly walking towards the door.  
She remained silent, treasuring all the memories up in her heart; memories of better times, memories that reminded her that she had been loved, and valued and cared for. She had fared well enough throughout her life, and selfish loneliness was not cause enough to wish her sons back into the familiar world of pain.

Though she was weary, her memories gave her strength to continue until she would see her sons, her brothers and her husband once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I did warn you.


End file.
